


Fame and Loathing

by BD99



Series: Tumblr Prompts [12]
Category: Sin With Me (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alcohol, Character Study, Friendship/Love, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Past Character Death, Psychological Trauma, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexual Content, Sexual Fantasy, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:00:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27815722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BD99/pseuds/BD99
Summary: Vinca finally reads what Rae thinks of her, which sends her into a spiral of self hatred and denial.Written to prompt: Vinca NSFW mindreading.Title inspired by Kimberly Freeman's song Fame and Loathing.
Series: Tumblr Prompts [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1940980
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	1. Fucking Noble

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 1 is fairly tame. Safe for work and not overly triggering. Chapter 2 is where the main chunk of trigger warnings are.
> 
> Chapter 1 trigger warnings  
> Strong language  
> Threats of violence  
> Mental breakdown

She was hard, then soft. Warm, save freezing hands. Cold, compared to burning breath. There was nothing constant about Vinca Wren. Nothing save how blue her eyes were. Deep, devastating blue, focused as if she might tear the truth from one’s soul with a glance.

Rae had been vulnerable before. She’d laid bare beneath her boyfriends, stripped down in the locker rooms in front of women who’d tear her apart. But this... it was so very different. They had all been physical, exposing herself to judgements on her body. This was inviting someone into her mind, a depth that hinted at the very soul. She knew, the moment she let Vinca in, the Wren would tear her apart with the ferocity of a hawk. That’s what Vinca did. Or perhaps what she was made to do. Tear people apart with all her savageness lest something less predictable rip them from her.

Vinca trembled, smaller than she had ever been in Rae’s presence. Without the monstrosity Vinca called heels, she was shorter, descended from the clouds. Aphrodite emerging to her nymphs, or Artemis to her Amazons. Vinca was both beauty and ferocity, staring into Rae’s soul with wide eyes and parted lips; gasping at whatever she had found. Then, fear. Crushing. Consuming. It spread, black eradicating blue, swallowing colours like the shadow of moonless night. Rae watched, a silent vigil as Vinca sifted through her mind. Picking and brushing, the gentlest touches. Rae could feel it, the way the power touched her, the trepidation in Vinca’s search. Like trembling hands slowly sweeping finger after finger of dust from the surface of a photograph long forgotten. As if afraid to uncover the pain behind a smile, or the treachery behind love. As if expecting poison from any kiss, to the point of downing their own toxins to avoid the humiliation of been fooled yet again.

“You really are fucking stupid, aren’t you? What, you think you can save me? That I need you?” Vinca’s words were knives, sharper than anything Rae had ever felt before. The sting had her wanting to recoil, her body screaming for her to run away, to cower. That she was in danger. Her soul chose differently. Each word was a tear silently trailing down her cheek, a tear to match the ones spilling from Vinca’s eyes. The model hissed, she lashed out with insults and harsh laughter, ranting and raving like the decrepit old man chained to an asylum wall in a horror film. Like a cat backed into a corner, left with nothing to do but hiss and scratch and bite. Just like a stray cat, Vinca’s heckles were up, her teeth bared and body nearly vibrating with how she shook even as she tried to shake Rae.

She couldn’t. The more she ranted, the more Rae’s smile grew. A gentle, understanding smile with only the intent to comfort. To soothe. The mechanic waited out Vinca’s storm, waited until the insults ran dry and the words slowed. Until confusion filled those fearful blues. Then, she reached out. In a flash, she had her arms around Vinca, holding the trembling Pride Assassin as if she were made of crystal.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Vinca demanded loudly, frozen with indecision. She was so much smaller than Rae had ever realised. So much softer, despite her edges and muscle. Her chest shook with her laboured breath, shoulder blades jutting out like the severed wings of an angel. That was where Rae hooked, clawing at Vinca’s back with the pads of her fingers. Clawing and wanting without ever scratching, without ever bringing sharpness to match Vinca’s. She could feel Vinca’s tears against her temple as Pride tipped her head, indulging in a single moment of weakness, of comfort and contact. Too safe. Too tempting. Too dangerous. A clash of reasons to accept and reject, each binding her hands to her sides as she tried to unravel herself from whatever web Rae had entrapped her in. Freedom came in the form of a shove.

It wasn’t a surprise when Rae found herself thrown backwards, sprawled out across Vinca’s bed like some prized jacket tossed aside after a long night. There was something familiar in this, a cultivation of every interaction laid out. Vinca’s warring emotions on display as Rae tried to untangle the complex, torn tapestry. Tried to put the portrait together like Belle in the Beast’s room. And just like the Beast, Vinca raged. She lashed out and tore. Unlike Belle, Rae didn’t flee in fear. She was not a damsel in distress, nor was this some romantic tale awaiting a shining hero to sweep her away. This was real life. This was layers upon layers of mental health and experiences. This was a puzzle to figure out, and figure it out Rae would. So, she did nothing save continue to smile, to let her own tears of sympathy fall as she watched Vinca’s face.

Vinca wanted... by the gods did she want. It was so clear in her tormented gaze, her agony and self-denial tangled into a tortured little existence. A melancholy she couldn’t ever shake hidden beneath a sneer. Vinca. Pride. Wren. Assassin. So many things warred, so many fragments she couldn’t ever admit were broken, not even to herself, lest she crumble. The immense image of Vinca Wren, Pride, could not crumble. Could not waver. If she did... her soul was a small price to pay for what she protected.

“Stop! Stop it! Stop being so ** _fucking_** noble!” Vinca spat, teeth bared in her fury. She could feel the cool air against her gums, teasing the droplets of spittle across her face from her yelling. She could feel the cold air colliding with her skin, or perhaps a layer of anxious sweat over her flesh. It did not matter.

She was lost in Rae’s mind. Reading minds was so vastly different between humans, between their own comprehensions. For some, it was merely images without sound. For others, it was words without focus. A few felt in colours and numbers, codes so complex that if not for her powers allowing her to understand every intention, Vinca might throw her hands up in frustration. She didn’t want to read the Matrix in a forty-year-old man’s head as he stared at her tits. Rae’s mind was unique, easier than Vinca had expected. Snapshots and scenes played through Rae’s mind, like the extra footage on a DVD, with running commentary from the cast playing over the movie. Vinca sifted through memory after memory, watching and feeling what Rae had, hearing the layers of commentary from those moments and each reflection, a hundred voices each taking their turns to add their opinions and hypothesis to things as details unfolded in life.

A smile, one so many people thought cold or predatory, Rae considered lonely and beautiful. Beauty wasn’t delicate, it didn’t have to be, but strength had weakness too. A lioness without a pride. Whilst so many people fell into thinking about all the delicious things Vinca’s lips might do alone in the dark, how they might curve in her pleasure, Rae’s mind was different. Rae questioned what might let Vinca show the warmth of summer instead of ice of winter, how she might make the Lioness realise her Pride was there, waiting for her to accept them.

At first, Vinca scoffed, suspecting that Rae may not see her body the ways others did. Perhaps Rae was immune to strikingly good looks and seductive eyeshadow. It only took a little nudge to realise this wasn’t the case, far from it. Rae saw, she definitely saw. Perfect angles and posters played out, some of less chaste poses across Vinca’s career, others just in everyday life where she looked absolutely gorgeous. She knew she had sex appeal, and so did Rae. There was attraction, acknowledgement to a physical reaction even, but unlike anybody else, Rae went no further… Or perhaps further than any other. Like a bloodhound, Vinca traced every touch of lust she could find, every concept of herself as beautiful or desirable, as if she might finally find something to recoil from. An easy starting point was her breasts. Men often wanted to grab; women wanted to taste. Both had fantasies and flashes of what it might feel like to have her chest squished to theirs, what piercings she might have beneath her jumpsuit, what they might feel. A hug was not about how tightly one could smoosh their chest into Vinca’s, not for Rae. Rae hoped Vinca might feel her heartbeat, might feel how wanted and loved she was by those around her. That she might finally accept herself as worthy of the trust Rae placed in her time and time again. 

Scene after scene like this played out. Rae considering things beyond the surface, understanding things on a level nobody ever had. Every fantasy she could trace down was so… it was all something she had given freely in the past. Even at the most instinctual of levels, Rae never had the desire to reach for anything Vinca had not given freely. Even those less dressed photos merely existed, instead of fuelling as they did so many people. Vinca knew fantasy, she knew the image of leather and lace, the sounds of imagined moans and screams. She expected them in every human, save the Ace community. Rae stood away from all of that. A fantasy for her was a warm smile on a nice day. Vinca accepting affection without snark or guilt. Vinca’s happiness. Since when was someone else’s happiness the deepest fantasy in someone’s head? Oh right, Vinca had forgotten, she was dealing with the dorkiest, most noble, angelic being she’d ever met. Virtues be damned. It made sense her head would be so fucking PG. The emotions she touched on were overwhelming, things she had never felt in her entire life. Tangled admiration, love, trust and utter faith so braided and twisted together that they became indistinguishable. Vinca was able to trace them, from beginning to the now, watching how they formed. Worship. This was how those of the purest faith felt towards their Gods, or children looking at the most inspiring heroes in their life, yet Rae felt it towards her. Vinca was her clarity, the most prevalent power in her life. Yet… it was not blind. That’s what made it even more terrifying. Rae saw Vinca, saw the human flaws and dark deeds, disagreed with some even. Rae knew Vinca was sharp, that worshipping her would leave her hands sliced open, yet Rae had utter faith that Vinca would bandage every wound she knew about. That even with blades drawn and threat of death levelled at her, that Vinca would return. That Vinca would save her, need her. Rae was so comfortable with the fact that Vinca’s edges would sometimes wound her unintentionally, so confident that Vinca’s heart was not in her darkness for darkness itself. The fact, to Rae, was as simple as the sun would rise the next day. 

It was too much.

“Stop it! Stop trusting me! Stop thinking of me this way! I am NOT some lost soul for you to save! I am not a good person, Rae, and if you keep thinking it then I’ll kill you myself!” Vinca’s words fell apart, her screamed threats delivered on a trembling voice. She didn’t wait, she couldn’t. The Pride assassin turned and stormed out of her own room, leaving the shocked Rae behind. Vinca chose to believe that shock was because she had broken through to the girl, and not for the tears gathering in her own eyes.


	2. Pride's favorite Victim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was almost ironic, Vinca had damned herself to stop abuse, only to grow into the biggest abuser. Truly, she’d stolen Dorran’s role, down to every sneer and harsh word... and Wren’s were the favored victims of Pride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for chapter  
> Self Pity  
> Self Hatred  
> Reflections on Abuse  
> Referenced death  
> Past Murder  
> Past Drugging  
> Implied mutilation  
> Vinca's mind reading NSFW style  
> Implied Oral sex  
> Implied Anal sex  
> Implied Violent sex  
> Implied Roofies  
> Implied non con/dubcon

An incognito stop into the lobby, a few snarky texts and a couple of hours later saw Vinca strutting into one of the elite exclusive bars of Vegas. The type where entrance was not based on the face on one’s ID, but the face on the bills flashed to the bouncer.

Immediately, the cool, impersonal air of modern decor and cool colours washed over her, matched by the subtleness of dimmed lighting and the cliche of smooth listening, jazzy music playing on the stereo as a small group of musicians prepared their next set. It wasn’t uncommon to walk in upon a comic wrestling polite laughter from bored patrons, from the usual crowd that such places attracted. This place was all smooth suits and gorgeous cocktail dresses. All well shaven people, with perfected makeup and crystal clean nails. Soft, callus free hands that were all too rough without leaving marks. All mind games, minefields of thoughts and emotions Vinca allowed herself to submerge in.

She sat proudly, giving the bartender a simple gesture the moment he looked towards her. This wasn’t a bar where you spoke to the help. Here, your order was judged by the quality of one’s gesture. Judging by how the bartender paled a little then scampered off towards the back room, Vinca’s “order” was beyond his expertise.

Nobody could see how she’d cracked. Nobody could see how she’d snuck into The Sin Circus, how she’d watched those she had called friends prance and preform. Nobody could see how she winced when she saw Gluttony, Malakai now, not her friend. Not the man who had died protecting her friends. Nobody could have seen her lazy grin at Sloth, Caleb’s almost lazy marksmanship. How Vinca had drowned in his lessons, how she’d trusted herself to him before everything had unfolded. Nobody saw how her brows had twitched when she watched Wrath, a woman larger than life in her own right, playing the role Dorran had never filled correctly. Sure, the man had been a pussy, but he clearly wasn’t woman enough to lead with his humanity on display nor was he man enough to treat... her correctly.

Onyx Wren. Her littler twin sister. Nobody had seen how Vinca’s eyes had teared, how she’d had to bite back her encouraging cheers as she watched Onyx cartwheel and flip across a highwire chased by flames. Nobody knew. Nobody had watched Onyx pass out into the nets as Dorran howled profanities and orders at her, as he deliberately turned the lights up to burn and dehydrate. How he’d blown that stupid fucking whistle at Onyx like she was a hound, instead of a mortal keeping up with empowered assassins. Now, the shorter Wren played the Sweetheart, flipping and blowing kisses, mouthed greetings to a special someone in the crowd, all twinkling eyes and smiles so sweet Vinca could feel the onset of diabetes. Was it worth it? Was this image of fearless grace and sugary sweetness worth what that man had done to her? Was that diabetes inducing smile worth the spark from Onyx’s eyes?

Vinca shook herself from her mind, scarcely acknowledging the placement of a drink in front of her. Like everything, it was a front. It wasn’t like she actually could get drunk or be drugged on mortal doses. She’d sacrificed that thrice over. Her hands always felt clammy to her, hot and sticky with the gallons of blood she’d extracted from Dorran. The methodical murder she’d committed, tears of rage trailing down her cheeks, memories of every time she’d fallen to her knees begging Onyx to leave him. To leave his abuse before it killed her. Before Dorran got bored of the training accident injuries and attempts to drive Onyx to suicide. Before took matters into his own filthy hands. Killing him had protected Onyx, it had kept her out of his grasp even as it shattered her heart... but at what cost? Onyx had lost Ripley next, only to become Ripley’s only connection to humanity. Onyx had become Envy. Her soul bound to a power that drew the demon’s focus. An afterlife as a creature worthy of her soul... Vinca couldn’t let that happen. The moment she had first dropped those drugs into Dorran’s drink, she knew she’d crossed a line she could never walk back from. Taking his life had changed things. Forever. She was already damned, already tainted beyond any form of redemption. What was selling her soul? Her humanity? It was a tarnished good exchanged for someone so pure and bright. For someone she loved with all her damaged heart. The power to read minds was worth the price, especially when it came to protecting Onyx.

Now everything was even more fucked up. Protecting had become abuse. Had become using everything Dorran had done to undermine and torment Onyx whenever she caught Vinca. She was entirely alone. Demons might be unable to read her mind, but they could read everybody else. Even Yvette was not a vault for Vinca’s deepest secrets. She could assume, an assumption wasn’t damnation. But ever assumption, every slip, was another grievous act Vinca had to perform. If her smile was too warm, it was another gash across Onyx’s skin, another bruise. Another demon let to claim an innocent while Vinca seemed almost bored. It was almost ironic, Vinca had damned herself to stop abuse, only to grow into the biggest abuser. Truly, she’d stolen Dorran’s role, down to every sneer and harsh word... and Wren’s were the favoured victims of Pride.

She’d taken such a strong stance against abuse, yet now she sat in one of the crispest, cleanest bars Vegas had to offer, reading every depraved thought of those around her. Hunting for every lewd fantasy about herself, reducing herself to the image even in the privacy of her own head. The duality of her natures silently playing their roles. Vinca Wren was nothing. A tool. A body. Property of any who’d dare. Pride was the abuser, relishing that humanity viewed her dirty whore in such a way. Pride was right there, talons woven through Vinca’s hair, yanking her head up, forcing her to watch, to see her own worthlessness without the role.

Just like the man, three seats down, licking his lips as he glanced at her. His fantasy had hands in her hair, forcing her head up as he thrusted into her face, sunk into her mouth. All sloppy, wet and disgusting sounds. Grunts. Every cliche line about whores and mouths and taking daddy like a good slut. All eyeliner running on tears and sweat.

Vinca silently tore her mind away, stomach churning in disgust.

But then it was rolling, muscles standing out beneath skin as she rolled and rose, riding the man six seats across with a sneer. She listened, hearing the slap of skin, hearing him whimper and beg as she dug her nails into his chest. As she mocked and degraded him. As she hurt him. As she tried to break his cock with every-

She tore away again. She didn’t want to see that. Humans. They were all so disgusting. So ugly beneath the surface, where every thought and impulse was registered. Every fucking day, Vinca sat amongst them, watching them. Right now the couple three tables away were sitting, chatting like a loving couple. Married for ten years. The woman was eyeing up the bartender, whilst the man pictured three of his female students bent over their desks for his delight. The man they were chatting with had a small baggie of dust in his breast pocket, one he was working up the courage to slip into an unsuspecting woman’s drink... and Vinca couldn’t even warn them. He knew what he wanted to do to his victim, disgusting things which made Vinca want to puke, but he had no victim. That dust was years old as he waited for perfection. Would he even do it? Fantasy did not always become reality, afterall... it was best left alone until he was proven guilty... or perhaps, he was best inhabited. A mental note for later.

The woman at the table across from them was interesting. Gentler, more poetic. With soft lighting and softer sounds. Playful touches, mischievous smiles. It wasn’t Vinca though, not quite. She was still Pride. In control, above it all, but the fantasy was not as violating. In fact, the way the woman pictured Vinca between her thighs was kind of hot... did she really think Vinca THAT flexible? It was an interesting concept, one Vinca was happy to observe, with an all too proud smirk dawning across her lips. Then the husband came in. Then it was Vinca bending low, pressed to his wife as he lined her up from behind... Really! Did they HONESTLY think she’d have a tramp stamp? Let alone THAT stamp? Hard pass.

Vinca pulled away with a shudder. Well, at least their fantasies were perfectly aligned. They belonged together, clearly. Perverted fucking soulmates.

A soulmate. Something she could never have. To even have friends beyond Laz and Yvette was a risk. A terrible, consuming risk. She had nothing left to give. Nothing worth more than someone like Rae if demons got their talons into her. If Nitza caught onto it. Vinca knew. Vinca knew Rae would be nothing like these people. Like any person Vinca had ever met. Losing what little she had of Rae would not be like brushing aside someone’s fantasies of her. It would be Onyx all over again. An Onyx she could never protect. Never save. It was her. Her interference. Her influence. Her thinking she could outsmart evil. She’d doomed her sister, just as she’d doom Rae if the girl started getting close.

It was as she’d come to realise. She was Pride, and Pride’s favourite victim would always be a Wren.


End file.
